


Possible (28/39)

by Mexta



Series: Possible [28]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, post-412
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 19:33:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2479898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mexta/pseuds/Mexta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At school</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possible (28/39)

Mickey sobered up on the walk home; alcohol never affected him for too long. Mandy had disappeared from the party a while ago, and Svetlana and Nika had opted to stay, so the boys were alone with Yevgeny. 

Ian seemed comfortable enough, but as they walked Mickey found himself thinking of the tableau he'd walked in on and wondering what the conversation had been about. 

He didn't want to ask outright, so after a while he focused on a tangential question. "Why didn't you want to stay at your place, man?"

Ian glanced at him. "Told you. Too crowded."

"Never seemed to bother you before."

Ian didn't answer right away, and looked like he was thinking about it. "Yeah. Seems different now." He was silent for a minute, then added, "I liked the party, but I'm glad I could leave all the chaos behind. You know?"

"Your family is kinda chaotic. So's mine but ... seems like there's more of you."

"Yeah. Your house actually feels more settled. Hard to believe the Milkoviches are more stable than the Gallaghers but ... "

"At least my dad's locked up so he doesn't just show up at random times."

"He'll get out of jail eventually, Mick."

"I got contacts. We'll know before it fucking happens." Mickey wanted to change the subject. "Anyway, I got no problem staying at your place if you want to. Just sayin'."

"Yeah, well I don't want to," Ian said decisively. "Unless you're kicking me out."

Mickey shoved Ian hard. "Don't be an asshole. I don't want you to leave."

"Even though you're not getting that stud service you want from me?" Ian asked, leering a little playfully.

"You get a little harder every day," Mickey said, wrapping an arm around Ian's waist and pulling him over. He nuzzled Ian's neck for a moment then stuck his tongue in Ian's ear lewdly and reached down to squeeze his cock. "See?" he said, feeling a slight stirring in response. "Any day now. You're gonna be back in the game."

"I dunno, Mickey," Ian said, mock seriously. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather just keep cuddling instead of banging?"

Mickey gave him another shove and they ran up the steps to the Milkovich house laughing. 

***

In truth Ian's biological responses were getting better, slowly but noticeably. He took more interest in physical contact, seemed happy to kiss or grope or help Mickey out, and even offered to go down on him on a semi-regular basis. Mickey was so relieved at these new developments that he didn't really mind the lack of full-on fucking. He didn't want to push Ian into anything he wasn't ready for, but liked to test his responses periodically. It seemed like they were improving.

"Want me to try you?" he asked hopefully after Ian had coaxed a very satisfying orgasm out of him that night.

"It's okay," Ian said, moving up to the top of the bed again.

But Mickey reached down, felt a small pulse of interest, and couldn't resist giving it a try. He took his time; _no pressure_ , he thought. When Ian spread his legs a little Mickey spent a few minutes on the inside of his thighs before moving to his cock and even then only licked and sucked lightly. Since he'd had already had his turn it was easy just to aim for making Ian feel good, and Ian's slow breaths and stroking hands told him it was working, even if the dick in his mouth only swelled slightly. When Ian pulled him back up Mickey didn't protest; he slid back behind Ian and threw his arm over Ian's side, like he always did now, and they drifted off to sleep in mutual contentment. 

***

When the summer term started, Mickey made excuses for being out all day. He didn't know why, but he still didn't want to tell Ian about his school plans. So he went to classes without explanation and let Ian make his own assumptions about where he was.

Ian still slept more than usual, but he'd taken to going out on his own as well. He no longer needed Mickey or one of his siblings to accompany him to the clinic, and he went out for a run most days. Sometimes he'd just say he wanted to go for a walk and would disappear for a couple of hours. Mickey wondered if he was working out, or looking for work, but he didn't like to ask too many questions since he didn't really want to answer any himself.

School itself was all right, even if Mickey did feel a bit ridiculous sitting at a desk in a classroom. At least the people around him were also older, adult men and women with their own lives and stories. In one of his classes, the teacher started the first day by asking all the students to tell a bit about themselves, and it was almost interesting to hear the variety of circumstances. Mickey made up a little story of his own to go along with the others, mainly because he didn't feel like saying he'd spent his high school years in juvenile detention.

He was standing outside the building one day, smoking a cigarette between classes, when he heard a voice behind him.

"Hey. Mickey, right?"

The voice was familiar, but Mickey couldn't place it at first, even when he turned around and saw a tall, muscular man in well-fitting jeans. 

The man lifted an eyebrow at him. "I know you don't want to dance with me or fool around with me ... but maybe a cup of coffee after class?"

"Fuck. _Sam_."

"Well, no, you didn't fuck Sam, but that don't mean we can't be friends, right?"

Mickey dragged on his cigarette to stall for time. In a way he was surprised the dude even wanted to talk to him after what had happened between them in the back room of the Jackhammer. "Guess not," he said finally. 

It turned out they both finished classes at about the same time, and Mickey had a couple of hours to kill before night school began so they met in the campus coffee shop. Mickey normally went home to check in on Ian during his gap, and he did consider blowing the guy off, but in the end was glad he didn't. Sam turned out to be friendly, laid back and easy to talk to. They were in different programs and didn't have any classes together, but they were both spending a lot of time at school and Sam didn't seem to have any more friends there than Mickey did. 

Soon they were meeting regularly for lunch or coffee, or a beer after class. They would compare notes on courses and programs, teachers and tools and assignments. Mickey was cautious at first, until he realized Sam's background wasn't so different from his own. While Sam's family lacked the dedicated criminal affiliation of the Milkoviches, he freely admitted to having friends who were 'in the business', as he put it, and even to having dabbled in it himself on occasion. Sometimes Mickey thought about proposing deals they could go in on together, but Sam was clearly trying to put the past behind him.

Once in a while Sam asked about Ian, and Mickey found himself talking more than he expected to about their lives together. When Sam suggested the three of them go out for a drink sometime, Mickey hesitated, not sure why at first. 

"You afraid he's not gonna like us hanging out together?" Sam asked, noticing his reluctance.

"Nah, man. He don't care about that."

"So what's the problem? He not like me?"

Mickey shrugged. "I don't know, man. I assume so. He wanted you to fuck me."

Sam smiled at that and took another swig of beer. "So? Why can't we do something together? He seems like a good guy."

"Because I ... " Mickey grimaced, and glanced down to light a cigarette, thinking about it, then met Sam's curious gaze when the answer occurred to him. "Cause I don't want to tell him where I met you."

Now Sam looked positively mystified. "What's wrong with meeting me at school? He knows I go here."

"Yeah. He don't know I do."

" _Wha-at_?" Sam laughed in surprise. "You're sneaking around, going to school? Why can't you tell him?"

And suddenly Mickey found it all spilling out: how he knew Ian wanted him to finish high school, to think about the future, to plan for something besides a life of crime; how Mickey had never been able to imagine anything except his father's life in his own future. And then how Ian's illness had made Mickey afraid, for the first time, that a thug's life of petty thievery, assault and small-time schemes would not be enough to let him look after Ian when he needed looking after. Which might not be all the time, but was sure to be some of the time.

"But why not tell him that you're going to school now?" Sam asked. "Don't you think he'll be glad?"

"Maybe too glad," Mickey said miserably, emptying yet another bottle. "What if I fuck it up? What if it turns out I can't do it? I've never been smart. Like him."

"You think he's gonna be pissed if you can't make it? It's a pretty heavy load you're carrying, Mickey -- high school and the program. I'm pretty sure he'd understand if it took you a little longer than you planned."

"Not pissed. Disappointed." Even as he said it, Mickey realized that was what he feared more than anything else. "I don't wanna let him down."

Sam reached across the table to give an encouraging bump with his fist against Mickey's. "I don't think you'll let him down, man."

Mickey could feel himself wincing as he reached for the next bottle. "You don't fuckin' get it. He's depressed. He's already ... convinced nothing's gonna work out for him. I fuck this up, it'll just convince him he's right."

"That's putting a lot of stock in what you do, isn't it? I mean, you really think how well you do in school is gonna make such a big difference to him? Depression is, like, a chemical condition --"

"I fucking _know_ what it is," Mickey said impatiently. "You think I don't know it's all chemicals, neurons, all that shit?" He forced himself to tone down the antagonism; it occurred to him for maybe the first time that he'd just as soon not drive Sam away. "The thing is, man, it's not just depression. It's manic-depression -- you know, bipolar they call it now. That means he can bounce around from super-excited, spinning around, full of crazy plans and shit ... and then, boom, he crashes." 

Sam was watching him more soberly now. "And you're afraid you'll kick off one of those cycles. If you let him know you're doing something he really wants you to ... and then you can't deliver on it."

The beer didn't seem to be helping. Mickey almost considered not finishing it. "Yeah," he said, pushing the bottle away a bit. "Something like that."

"That ... seems like a tough situation," Sam said, and his voice held a quality Mickey hardly recognized. "For both of you."

Mickey shrugged half-heartedly, surprised now at how much he'd already said. "Whatever, man. I just ... I was just tryin' to explain why he doesn't know about me bein' in school."

Sam nodded and touched the beer bottle Mickey had pushed away, lightly. "You had enough for tonight?"

"I should prolly be getting back." Mickey hated to admit that after a few hours away from a home he tended to get antsy, wondering what Ian was up to.

But Sam seemed to get it without being told. "C'mon," he said, throwing a few bills on the table. "My turn tonight. Let's head to the El."

They walked along the evening streets toward the station without talking much, but after all his spilling earlier Mickey kind of appreciated the silence. He wasn't usually the type to blurt out everything he felt.

"Tell you what," Sam said, as they waited on the platform for trains going in opposite directions. "Next time you guys drop by the Jackhammer, just let me know ahead of time and I'll make sure to bump into you there. Then you won't have to explain how you met me when I suggest we go out together."

Riding home alone in the train car, watching the graffiti covered apartment blocks and shuttered storefronts speed by outside the window, it occurred to Mickey that aside from his own family, and Ian, Sam might be the first actual friend he'd made in his adult life.


End file.
